


Decline and Fall

by elzed



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-11
Updated: 2008-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-04 10:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elzed/pseuds/elzed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-mini Academy fic. </p><p>Betaed by the peerless overnighter, and checked for canon consistency by the lovely helen_c.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decline and Fall

Lee is used to his little brother’s incurably romantic streak. Ever since they were teenagers, Zak’s either been hopelessly in love or nursing a broken heart. Zak doesn’t do casual relationships; doesn’t date pretty girls with no view to the future (like Lee does); doesn’t do relationships where there isn’t much more than some shared good times before an amicable parting of the ways.

For some reason, the lessons that Lee took from their parents’ divorce – that true love is a sham, that nobody lives up to expectations – passed his brother right by. Zak still dreams of The One, swears he’ll find her someday. 

So when Lee called Zak a few days ago to tell him he’d be at Fleet Headquarters for a conference in early summer, just in time for Skira, he wasn’t surprised to hear his brother raving about the new woman in his life. He just didn’t picture her anything like the ensign saluting him as he steps out of Military Transport 7581 from Caprica City; blonde hair pulled back into a short ponytail, pilot wings flashing on the collar of her blues, telltale pin of the senior cadet wing squadron leader beside them.

Somehow he hadn’t expected Zak to pick one of his successors.

“Lieutenant Adama, sir?”

He nods.

“I’m Ensign Thrace,” she says as he salutes back.

She’s attractive, rather than beautiful, with expressive hazel eyes, a wide sensual mouth, and enough curves to balance her broad shoulders and soften her athletic frame.

He tears his eyes away from this assessment with a start when he remembers she’s Zak’s girl, and stretches out a hand in welcome instead.

“So where’s Zak, Ensign?”

She grins. “He’s finishing a training module in the sims, sir. Making up for lost time.”

No need to ask how the time was lost (Zak mentioned they got on “spectacularly” in the sack) but now that Lee’s seen her it’s all too easy to imagine her in a state of undress; easy, and all too compelling.

With a sharp sigh. Lee reminds himself that it’s not for him to imagine. His brother has prior claim. This doesn’t bode well for their future relationship. He hopes he won’t have to deal with her long-term; that she’ll have ditched Zak by summer’s end. If she’s an ensign already then she’s bound to be headed off for a few months of Officer Candidate School, and that should nail it on the head.

(Later, he’ll laugh bitterly at how much he wanted to believe this.)

He falls into stride with her, shifting his bag to the opposite shoulder, and tries to make small talk.

“How’s your squadron flying these days?”

“Pretty much like it was when you ran it, sir.”

She looks almost sly as she answers.

“Except with less decorum.”

“You can call me Apollo, you know.”

“Starbuck,” she replies, and Lee almost trips over his own feet in shock. Suddenly her vaguely familiar look resolves itself in a very identifiable manner. Shaggier hair, tanks and BDUs instead of blues, a cigar clamped in her mouth…

She catches on and her sly grin widens.

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope. Zak said you were feisty, but he didn’t mention he was dating Henderson’s nemesis.”

She has a dirty laugh, and he wishes it didn’t sound so sexy.

“Come on, the poor guy’s retired now, give him a break.”

“Like you did?”

She shrugs.

“At the time, he deserved it.”

They skirt a low-lying building and cross what looks like a deserted parking lot, and Lee realizes they haven’t passed security.

“Are you taking me the back way?”

“You have high enough security clearance that we can deal with it on-base, apparently,” she says, and her eyes are sparkling. “Plus, I looked into the terminal on the way in and a couple of Gemenese transporters had just landed. You don’t want to be caught in that line.”

Lee strongly suspects this is more bending of the rules than an ensign should really be able to get away with, but it’s all in keeping with her reputation. Truth be told, he still can’t get his brain around the fact that Zak’s girlfriend is the notorious Starbuck, Viper jock extraordinaire and hellraiser second to none.

He’s surprised she made it to the top position in the senior year, with a commission thrown in; if even half the stories he’s heard are true, her disciplinary record must be appalling. Then again, he has seen her fly, and she is an exceptional pilot. If she hadn’t been a couple of years below him at the Academy they might have flown together, and – if he remembered correctly – he might have had to concede his top slot. As it had been, though, one of the rare occasions when they competed head to head was the Academy’s annual sharpshooter competition. Starbuck had won, every time.

He’s pretty sure his brother has bitten off more than he can chew. But Kara Thrace is undeniably hot. Or would be, if she wasn’t dating Zak.

It’s a relief when they get to the transport – a standard military pickup – and she takes the wheel. The rumble of the engine is loud enough to drown out any conversation, and they drive to the base in companionable silence through familiar landscapes. The flat meadows either side of the road are a riot of fresh green grass dusted with wildflowers; only the reddish rock poking through here and there to remind Lee of how much drier Picon is than Caprica. The ground turns hilly as they approach the base, on the outskirts of Delos, the sparse trees grow thicker; he wonders whether he’ll have time to go for a run tomorrow before his first meeting. He can wake early, make time, maybe even convince Zak to join him, although his little brother has never been an early riser.

He’s still thinking of his plan when he sees Zak, jogging towards the truck as Kara crosses the perimeter checkpoint and pulls over near the school barracks. His faceis split by a huge grin that only widens when Lee steps down from the cab.

“Sorry I couldn’t make it, Bro’,” Zak says when they pull back from a bonecrushing hug. “Kara take good care of you?”

His arm slips easily over her shoulder as she circles the truck and joins them, and he plants a sloppy kiss on her lips (not dirty or lingering, Lee notes, but hardly innocent either).

“She did, yes. She also told me a couple of things you failed to mention about her, like her callsign.”

He keeps his voice deliberately light, but he is a little pissed at his brother. He knows it wasn’t an accidental oversight.

“I thought you might know her, but I wasn’t sure…” Zak begins, but Lee cuts him off.

“I call bullshit. You thought I’d tell you off for dating a troublemaker.”

Somehow he doesn’t think Kara will be offended. He’s right.

“I told you he’d figure you out.”

She laughs and turns to Lee.

“Zak thought you might disapprove of my influence.”

“Thanks, Zak. You make me sound like I have a stick up my ass.”

“Now you mention it, sir,” Kara says, “You did have the reputation of being a stickler for the rules when you were here.”

He bites back a retort about _her reputation_ , because he’s remembering a couple of eyebrow-raising anecdotes about Starbuck. Then again, who the hell is _he_ to make moral judgments about fellow pilots? Most of them, he’s discovered, are easy lays. All that aggression and adrenaline needs an outlet. He’s not, that much he figured out early on in life, but he knows it’s nice to have the option if it’s needed.

He wonders if Zak is just a pastime for her, if she’ll walk away from him when she gets bored. He finds himself hoping that she does, because looking at them in their matching Fleet fatigues and foolish grins, he feels uneasy. He should probably find himself a girl while he’s here, he decides, to distract him from the prurient interest he’s developing in his brother’s sex life.

“Hey, hey,” Zak protests. “It was just because I didn’t want you giving Dad the wrong idea…”

“Since when do I talk to Dad, Zak?” Lee says, and he doesn’t mean to sound so bitter but it’s like throwing a bucket of ice water over their banter.

Zak grimaces. “Sorry.”

Lee shrugs, clearing his throat to break the uncomfortable silence that follows the brief mention of their father. Even light-years away, Commander Adama’s shadow can cast a pall on a family gathering.

“I’ll get my stuff unpacked.”

 

***************

He’s been assigned a room in the officers’ quarters; next to Kara’s, it turns out, which means he’ll probably have the dubious pleasure of hearing his brother frakking his girlfriend later tonight. He doesn’t have any illusions that either partner is especially discreet.

One summer, when Zak was fifteen and Lee was home for one of his infrequent visits from the Academy – their mom had been drinking again – he caught his little brother entertaining a girl at home.

Actually, “caught” is an exaggeration, since he'd only talked to Zak about it after the fact. When he’d figured out what the noise coming from his brother’s bedroom actually was, Lee hadn’t had the heart, or the guts, to walk in on him. Suffice it to say Zak Adama wasn’t quiet in bed – not then at any rate – and judging by the answering noises from his partner, he’d had more of an idea of what to do with a woman than Lee had had at the same age.

Of course, he doesn’t know what Kara sounds like – the nuggets were far separated from the upperclassmen’s quarters when they’d overlapped at the Academy – but he’s prepared to bet she’s not the silent type. He’d rather not find out, though, because he’s not sure how he’d react if he did, and this whole situation is starting to irritate him enough already.

Why the frak is he obsessing about Starbuck and her sex life with his baby brother?

He blames the enforced (read: self-enforced) celibacy brought about by the course-intensive War College syllabus. The fact that he’s a rook, not to mention the youngest in his class by several years, doesn’t help, nor does his perfectionism allow him to devote much time to chasing girls.

He’s slightly apprehensive when he meets Zak and Kara in the mess for dinner, but somehow the edge has dulled. He starts seeing through his attraction, and enjoying Kara’s company. She’s sharp-witted and funny; utterly merciless with any perceived pomposity or self-righteousness, and has a ribald laugh that echoes through a canteen like nobody’s business.

“You can _not_ be serious Apollo! No way you’re defending Pamphilius on this! He’s a grotesque old fart with outdated views on the role of Viper pilots, and his head is so far up his wizened old ass…”

“Kara!” Lee hisses, “He’s still head of the Academy. _Your_ CO! And you’re an officer!”

She pauses long enough to shoot him a cocked eyebrow.

“Thinking of sending me to cool my heels in hack, sir?”

She’s infuriating and rebellious and he really shouldn’t let her get away with it, but there’s something mischievous in her eyes he can’t ignore, so he just laughs. Frakking brazen, yes, but charismatic, too, and he wants in.

They swap anecdotes about dealing with the senior year pilots – bunch of arrogant know-it-alls – and Zak listens, spellbound, which is when Lee realizes just how focused on piloting a Viper his little brother has become. He’s not sure whether dating Kara is part of Zak’s obsession, or whether it’s just a happy coincidence, but he’s not about to complain. He’s missed the company of tylium-heads and Viper jocks – War College isn’t the same as the Academy – and few enough people, even here, really _get_ what flying means to him.

Kara does.

From the mess it’s an easy trek off base to the nearest bar – there’s several within walking distance of the Academy – without the conversation ever flagging.

“You can’t do that with a Mark II!” Kara exclaims when he insists that he did, in fact, barrel roll _under_ the main Delos aqueduct when practicing a fly-by in honor of Admiral Nagala’s appointment as Fleet Commander two years ago.

“Can too – and you would’ve seen it if Ladenis hadn’t pulled me off the show for breaking safety regs.”

“Apollo, you sonofabitch – and here I was thinking that you did _everything_ by the rules!”

“Yeah, that’s what I let people think,” he says, shrugging, and Zak laughs, a reminder that there are three of them in this conversation after all, even if only two of them are talking.

They duck into a dubious-looking establishment Lee vaguely remembers from his first year. It’s the third bar they’ve passed – Kara nixed the first two offhand for unspecified reasons, although Zak did whisper something about getting thrown out on her ass a couple of weeks earlier after a fracas involving civilians. Apparently promotion hasn’t tamed her.

After the second bottle of ambrosia Zak is sprawled in his seat with a beatific grin on his face.

“You guys are just the best,” he says. “The frakking best. I just hope I can fly half as well as either of you one day, and I’ll be vennicated. Vendic… vindicated. Whatever.”

He raises his glass, draining the green liquid in one go, while Lee and Kara look on affectionately.

“Speaking of flying,” Kara says, “You know we’re doing a little air show for Skira?”

“Because nothing says harvest festival like a bunch of Vipers shooting across the skyline,” Zak adds, snorting.

“Frak you, you godsless bastard!”

Kara smacks him on the side of the head, and Zak collapses into a heap, still shaking with laughter.

“Come on, Lee, wouldn’t you like to fly lead in our parade? And we could skim past the aqueduct on the way back…”

“Tempting,” Lee muses before knocking back another shot. “Not sure how it would go down with the boss, though.”

“Well, you’re not here anymore so you should be safe. And if I end up in hack – seriously? Absolutely worth it.”

“I’m getting the impression you want to try that maneuver too…”

“Try it? We should fly tandem, and hit adjacent arches, that’s what I think! But we won’t get a chance to practice much – so we might have to do it cold.”

Kara’s face is flushed over the rim of her glass, two pink spots on her cheeks, eyes bright with mischief. Her enthusiasm is hard to resist – and somewhere deep inside himself, Lee still resents the fact that he didn’t get a chance to perform his little stunt.

He follows orders, yes, knows what it means to be in the military, the importance of discipline, of respecting the code, but at the same time he has a wild streak in him, and flying is the one domain where he will, sometimes, let it out.

Given the incentive of her smile, he’s not going to say no.

********************

The omens are good on the morning of the festival – the sun is shining and Skira rituals are best performed under cloudless skies. There are the traditional libations to Athena, Demeter and Kore, women’s processions in town, and by early afternoon the crowd gathered near the base to see the Viper squadron fly is boisterous and good-natured. Delos is a Fleet town through and through, proud of the Academy and of its pilots; the air displays always pull cheering supporters.

For the past five days, Lee’s been wrapped up in conference business. Yesterday he finally delivered his much-honed paper on tactical Viper deployments in the new Mercury class battleships (painfully aware as he spoke that his meager two months aboard _Atlantia_ were a flimsy foundation for his theory, and stunned by the applause he received at the end).

Every afternoon, though, he’s made time to fly with Kara and her team, practicing complex routines and flash maneuvers, and relishing every second of it. It’s not just the pleasure of flying after months of War College studies; it’s the sheer exhilaration of flying with _her_. He’s never flown with anyone who can second-guess him like she can, following him through every twist and turn, or leading him into hair-raising tricks.

If he’s pushed, he’ll admit that yes, she might be a better pilot than he is, and Lee is _very_ competitive on that front. But he’s also fair.

“So, Apollo, you strapped in and ready to roll?” she says in his ear once he’s put on his helmet, and her voice sends a shiver of excitement down his spine. _It’s the flying_ , he tells himself sternly.

The ten planes take off in perfect formation, swoop around in a low arc, and split in pairs to perform elegant arabesques over the ooh-ing and aah-ing spectators – the incredible maneuverability of Vipers, even in-atmosphere, can make relatively simple moves look amazing. There are spirals and spins and end-to-end tumbles, all perfectly synchronized, and when they regroup in formation, they fly back upside down before stopping in mid-air to right themselves, hovering low over the crowd.

Then comes Lee and Kara’s moment of glory, when they peel off from the rest of the team, who fly over the aqueduct while the two of them aim for matching arches and barrel roll right through them.

There’s a split second where Lee realizes he’s probably about to kill himself in a terribly messy, public and expensive manner, then he just lets his instincts guide him into the spin, relying on reflexes and momentum to carry him through to the other side. When he emerges victorious, Kara’s on his left wing, grinning like a fool, and they both point their birds to the sky and soar. The comm chatter in his helmet is deafening – congratulations from the other pilots and, cutting through, the aggravated voice of Colonel Ladenis, head of the Academy’s Flight School.

“Apollo, I thought I’d made clear to you that this maneuver posed an unacceptable risk.”

“Sorry, sir?”

“Don’t think that I’ve forgotten it.”

“Forgotten what, sir?”

“Apollo, just because you’re not one of my pilots anymore doesn’t mean I can’t kick your ass.”

“No, sir.”

“For what it’s worth, you two looked good. But don’t ever frakking pull this kind of stunt again on my patch or I’ll revoke your flight status.” Under the anger, there is genuine respect in the colonel’s voice. “And Starbuck?”

“Sir?”

She sounds like she’s trying not to smile.

“You’re damn lucky Apollo outranks you or else your ass would be headed for hack. Again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Report to me when you land. Ladenis out.”

They get reamed out for their audacity, but Lee has the feeling it’s done mainly for the sake of appearances, although he has no doubt that Ladenis will make good on his threat if they ever try to pull this off again. Lee doesn’t really care – he’s still high on adrenaline, and on the look Kara gave him when she stepped out of her cockpit, helmet in hand, a mixture of excitement, admiration and the shared joy of their little stunt.

Zak is waiting outside the colonel’s office and hugs them both when they come out. He’s played the head cheerleader all the way, delighted to see his big brother and his girlfriend hit it off so well, and Lee has pangs of something very much like guilt as he looks at his brother’s open, adoring face. In the back of his mind, he knows there’s more than comradeship here, but he just doesn’t want to think about it.

Later that evening, after much backslapping from starry-eyed fellow pilots, and copious amounts of ambrosia, there’s music, and people pushing him and Kara onto the dance floor, clamoring for Starbuck and Apollo to start the dance, and they oblige.

It turns out even without Vipers, they move well together. Her body is warm against his and triggers the sort of inappropriate responses that require an extraordinary effort of willpower to keep under control. Thankfully, Lee is possessed of an iron will, honed by years of military discipline. He can’t deny she feels good in his arms, though, and he almost lets himself imagine what it would be like if she was his, and not Zak’s.

Eventually he goes to the bar, ceding his place to his brother – the entitled one – and when he watches them swaying to the beat, entwined, Kara’s face a picture of tender concern as she looks into Zak’s eyes, he drains his glass and orders another one.

But it’s not that simple, because Zak flits off like the social butterfly he is, and Kara joins Lee back at the bar, where he’s a little the worse for wear. She’s wearing a loose shirt over fatigues, and she’s left it unbuttoned far down enough that a generous amount of cleavage is showing, which Lee can’t help but notice. When his gaze wanders back towards her face, she’s grinning, and he feels his ears burning.

“Up here, soldier,” she says, pointing at her eyes, but there’s something indefinable there, not just mockery, and certainly neither outrage nor disapproval. If he didn’t know better –if she wasn't with Zak – he’d say she’s interested, the way the tip of her tongue brushes her top lip, her eyelids hooding her eyes.

He stares back at her for a little too long and she’s the one who looks away, eventually. He shouldn’t chalk it up as a small victory, but he does.

There’s more drinking, and dancing, but this time Kara’s with Zak, and Lee makes a point of seeking out other partners. It’s not much of a chore, since there’s a steady stream of cadets keen to meet the daredevil Lieutenant who pulled those stunts with the queen of the Academy skies; and even a few who remember him from his Ensign Adama days.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur of music and ambrosia and pretty girls in uniform – blondes, brunettes, redheads; Daphne, Sophie, Demetria, Anna – all perfectly charming and eager and fun, but not really worth expending the extra energy to get into his bed. Besides, he’s too tired for anything after today’s display – at least that’s what Lee tells himself when he goes back to his room alone, much later, strips out of his dress grays and falls onto his bed.

Even iron wills have their breaking point, though, and when a muffled moan comes through the wall, he feels something give. When the moan is followed by a string of expletives, Kara’s voice loud enough for him to make out the words, Lee finally lets himself slip a hand into his briefs. He’s managed to ignore it for the past couple of days, or maybe they were quieter, but this is beyond him.

He circles the girth of his half-erect cock with loose fingers, stroking gently at first, but as Kara’s moans grow more urgent he tightens his grip. He’s doing his damnedest to block out the occasional male grunts coming through, or any thought of Zak. She cries out – the scream muffled by a hand, or a pillow – and the blood rushes to his dick, now ramrod hard and hot to the touch, the head shiny and stretched smooth by his arousal.

Lee raises his hips slightly with every stroke, thrusting shallowly into his fist, eyes screwed shut. He pictures her spread out under him, mouth open, moaning for him, with him, her hips bucking as he plunges into her repeatedly, and his orgasm rises, unstoppable.

He comes so hard he has to bite his lip almost to bleeding to stop himself from groaning (the gods forbid that _they_ should hear _him_ ). He’s barely coming down from his peak when the guilt hits.

Frak. He can _not_ let this happen again.

****************************

It makes it just a little awkward at breakfast – for him – but Lee’s no stranger to repressed emotions, so keeping his unease under wraps isn’t much of a strain. He’s lied (by omission, mainly) to protect Zak before; but not because he felt personally guilty. That’s a first.

Of course, it isn’t just about beating off to Zak’s girlfriend. It’s about wondering whether she thinks about him, too, and what would happen if…

Lee shakes his head and takes another sip of hot coffee, scalding his tongue and grimacing.

“Coffee too hot for the Sun God?” a mocking voice queries, and he raises his head to see Kara, looking improbably fresh considering the night she had (don’t think about _that_ ), damp hair slicked back, a broad grin on her face. She’s holding a tray and nudges his as she dumps it on the table in front of him and attacks her bowl of hot cereal with relish, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth with a complete lack of self-consciousness that Lee finds oddly endearing, if a little crude.

“Zak still in bed?”

“Not exactly. He was dragged out at the crack of dawn,” she explains between mouthfuls. “Survival exercise. I think he’s due back tomorrow. Maybe the day after. They’re cagey bastards, never tell you how long these things last. You must remember what it’s like.”

He does. The whole point of these exercises is to keep the cadets in the dark and shock them until they lose their bearings and their confidence; the better to test their resilience and resourcefulness. Sometimes, they last days.

“I was hoping Zak would come with me to this speech. Adar’s running for president and he’s addressing the school this afternoon. I think it might be interesting.”

Kara snorts into her bowl.

“I’ll come with you. Is there free booze?”

He rolls his eyes.

“What do you think this is? Caprica University?” He pauses. “Are you really going to come?”

“Why not? I might as well listen to the guy before voting against him.”

“You’re going to vote against him? What, for that nutjob Theoforos?”

“He’s not a nutjob! Just about the only man with vision in the whole bunch.”

“Vision? He’s convinced the Cylons are about to reappear, and uses it to justify his dictatorial policies – he’s paranoid!”

They’ve both unconsciously squared up across the plain metal table, jaws tight, and Kara’s right hand is twitching. Lee notices her cheeks are flushed, feels his own burning. The tension ratchets up a notch.

“You father thinks otherwise,” she says, flat. “I’ve heard him argue about this, here.”

“Frak my father, he’s obsessed with the Cylons. He thinks the toasters are regrouping somewhere beyond the armistice line and that they’ll unleash something unspeakable on us.” Lee breathes slowly through his nose, willing calm. “Besides, you already know how little his opinion means to me.”

After that exchange, they finish breakfast quietly, heads down, with barely a word between them. But later that afternoon, when Lee walks in the auditorium where Adar is to speak, he spies a familiar blonde head on one side, and joins her.

“I wasn’t sure you were up for a little less vision,” he whispers into her ear, and when she smiles in response, Lee realizes abruptly that he is falling in love with his brother’s girlfriend.

The speech itself is interesting enough – Adar is a good orator, and he’s talking about the limits of civil liberties, and the need to balance them with colonial interests and defense priorities, a subject guaranteed to get Lee going. But he’s extremely aware of his surroundings, blond wood and steel rising tier after tier behind him; the red jacket of the civilian guy sprawled on the chair across the aisle; the door closing, none too gently, as three pilots slink in, still in their flightsuits; and next to him the warm, intoxicating presence of Kara, almost touching him with every breath she takes, her arm nearly brushing his.

*******************

Later still, they’re in a bar – a different one this time, darker and slightly more menacing; but the ambrosia is cheap and surprisingly good for the money, and no one seems to be paying any attention to them, so Lee lets himself relax and orders another round. There’s a throbbing beat in the background that he recognizes – an obscure local band he took a liking to in his first year at the Academy, Gravel Pit or Mineshaft or something. It’s as if the past couple of years never happened and he’s having a drink with a promising young cadet who just happens to have insane flying abilities.

It’s easy to forget everything else, to forget Zak, lost in some mountain range out in the back country, struggling to make it through sadistic traps laid by devious instructors like Sergeant-Major Deys, who delights in scaring the shit out of cadets in hostile conditions.

“So, Apollo, did Adar hit all your liberal buttons?” Kara asks as she slips into the seat next to him.

He shrugs.

“I don’t agree with everything he says, but he makes some damn good arguments about respecting the law and the rights of our fellow Colonials in times of conflict.”

“He’s only saying that because we’re not,” she scoffs. “Believe me, if the Cylons hit us, I’d prefer to see Theoforos running the show.”

“Oh, don’t start that again. He just wants any pretext to beef up the armed forces and clamp down on civil liberties.”

“Excuse me, _Lieutenant_ Adama – is there something I’m missing? Beefing up the armed forces is good news for us – have you forgotten what you are?”

“I don’t know about you, Starbuck,” Lee says crisply, “but I occasionally look outside the military bubble, and somehow I think what goes on there also matters.”

She sighs exaggeratedly and drains her glass with a practiced economy of movement that Lee envies her. Graceful isn’t the first word that comes to mind when meeting Kara Thrace, but past the brash, boisterous exterior her movements are full of grace. Not the girlish kind, more like that of a predator, a big cat. He notices.

“And your point is?” she fires back.

“I don’t want the government to spend all its cash on the Fleet – much as I appreciate it when we get new birds – when there’s riots on Sagittaron because of food prices.”

“Oh please, it’s not about food prices – it’s that terrorist Tom Zarek and his followers just creating trouble for the sake of it,” she says, lip curling with disdain.

“Do you even know what you are talking about? Do you have any idea of the kind of social injustice that’s kept Sagittaron at the bottom of the pecking order, its resources and people stripped to increase the wealth of the other Colonies?”

“Frak, Lee, you sound like you’re one of Zarek’s mob!”

“And what if he does have something of value to say?” he shoots back. “His actions don’t invalidate everything he’s said.”

“Hell, yes, they do!”

She’s looking fired up again, with those adorable pink spots blossoming on her cheeks, and really, Lee should just leave, now. Instead he reaches out with his right hand, almost without thinking, and touches the side of her face. Her eyes widen but she doesn’t move away from his touch. She feels hot, dangerously so, and it ignites something in him he realizes he is powerless to resist.

“Lee…” she says, sounding helpless, and in a fit of temporary insanity – at least, that’s what he tells himself later – he leans forward and brushes his lips against hers. She opens her mouth under his with a sigh and that’s it – Lee’s carefully constructed moral universe falls apart, bringing down with it his loyalty, his honor and two decades’ worth of protectiveness towards his little brother.

It should be a gentle first kiss, but it’s nothing of the kind, his tongue slipping avidly into her mouth to meet equal passion in return, their lips mashing together as his hand slides around, cradling her head, fingers laced in her blonde strands, and pulls her in closer. Her scent is heady – a spicy warm note that's all her, with a hint of sweat, cigar smoke and ambrosia. It's the sexiest smell in the world, and he can't get enough of it.

He has no idea for how long they kiss before she pulls away and lies back against her seat, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"In the name of all that is holy, Lee, this is so frakking wrong," she says, breathing unevenly, and he nods because yes, she's absolutely right, it is. He could have told her that the minute their lips met. _Wrong_. But irresistible too, and the kisses are second to none.

There's anguish in Kara’s gaze when she stops staring at the peeling paint, stained yellow with nicotine, and faces him instead. Her hands on the table are clenching into fists nervously, nails worrying away at stray cuticles, a drop of blood welling on the side of her thumb. He stretches his hand towards hers and she shakes her head.

“Don’t. Please.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and it is absolutely true. He is profoundly sorry. If he could turn the clock back, he would (except that he can still taste her lips on his, and he can’t imagine giving that up).

He forces himself not to move when she pushes herself up and grabs her uniform jacket, shrugging it on with her back to him, the set of her shoulders determined. Lee averts his eyes, focuses on the cracked leather of the seat she’s just vacated, reminiscent of a dry riverbed in high summer; scratches his thigh; counts to ten before looking up at her.

Kara is standing there, head bowed, looking sorrowful and beautiful in equal measure.

“I’m going back,” she says.

Lee makes a move to stand.

“Let me walk you home.”

“Gods, Lee, _no_.”

He drops back into his seat, defeated, and watches as she turns on her heel and walks off without sparing him a glance. He deserves it, despicable man that he is, making a move on his brother’s beloved. At this point, it’s better to ignore her eager response, the way her tongue snaked around his, how pliable her lips felt under his.

The only way Lee knows how to dull pain is to order more ambrosia. It takes him less than five minutes to drain the first glass, and he signals to the barman for more. By the second one, a fuzzy warmth starts to spread, and the gnawing guilt recedes. Maybe they’ll be able to put this behind them. Zak need never know. He conveniently ignores the fact that he doesn’t want to put this behind him at all, that what he really wants is to go after her and kiss her again.

That won’t happen. Can’t happen.

By glass number three (which is, actually, his fifth since he got here), he’s drunk enough that his conscience is giving him a break, but not too drunk to recognize that now is as good a time as any to go home and crash. Maybe he can sleep it off, wake up tomorrow morning as if nothing had happened.

He stumbles a little when he comes out of the bar and the cool air hits him – Picon’s notorious north wind is up, a threat even in midsummer. The night is overcast, the cloud cover thinning briefly as it drifts across the moon but hiding the stars. It’s a short walk home, down a couple of streets and across the campus, his collar turned up to ward off the chill, hands jammed into his pockets. He turns a corner and the wind whips into him, so he breaks into a run.

By the time he reaches his building, he’s sobered up a little more than he intended to, and the blood is pumping through his veins. He’s no longer cold; instead he craves the comfort of his bed. Sleep may prove elusive, but he’s determined not to mull over what happened. He wants to forget.

The lock to the main door is stiff and it takes him a couple of tries to get the key to work as he curses under his breath. The heavy door slamming behind him echoes in the dimly-lit corridor, making him wince. He’s almost at his door when he notices the open window at the back, the smell of cigar smoke wafting through, and although he knows he shouldn’t, he can’t help himself.

Kara is sitting on the wide window ledge, one arm around her knees, a bottle of ambrosia wedged between her feet, a thin cigar dangling from her hand. There’s just enough light for Lee to see the shining tracks of tears on her cheeks.

“Hey,” he says softly, “You okay out there?”

She snorts and turns to look at him, eyes puffy from crying.

“Do I look okay to you?”

“Not really.”

Lee hauls himself through the window and climbs gingerly on the ledge – it’s wide enough for two, and they’re only a floor up, but he knows better than to try acrobatics under the influence. Still, some things have to be done. At least this side of the building is shielded from the wind.

“I’m so frakking sorry,” he starts after he’s settled down, back to the wall, his shoulder just touching hers, but she raises her hand to silence him.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s not just you. I could’ve stopped you.”

_I’m glad you didn’t_ , he wants to say, but stays silent. He doesn’t know if it’s true anyhow.

“I can’t stop thinking about it, about you,” she says, then, and despite her hollow tone, the words send a thrill through his body, reawakening sensations he’s tried to tamp down. The numbing effects of the alcohol have evaporated; what remains is light-headedness and a heightened sensitivity to her presence. Their only point of contact, his shoulder, starts getting warmer.

“It’s the ambrosia talking,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, but she sounds almost vicious when she replies.

“The frak it is! This started a week ago. And don’t tell me you haven’t felt it, too.”

She closes her eyes, reaches for the bottle, and takes a long pull before handing it over to Lee, who follows suit.

“I couldn’t fly with you like this and not think of what it would be like if we ever…” she tails off.

It’s his turn to screw his eyes shut, because he can’t deny the thought has been in his mind from the very first time they took off together and discovered they matched each other so perfectly in the air, so gracefully.

“I love Zak,” she continues, her voice cracking, “but sometimes when we’re in bed together and I close my eyes–”

“Don’t. _Please_ ,” Lee interrupts, his heart thumping in his chest. His face is burning, and the thought that she might have been thinking of him the other night, when he was beating off on his bed, makes him grow hard again in record time.

“Oh, Lee, this is so frakked up,” she says with a heavy sigh.

Abruptly she slides down the wall and her head lands on his shoulder. He thinks she might be drunker than he is, which makes this even more wrong, but he’s not really sober enough to care, and he slips his arm around her, pulling her close. Can’t let her fall off that ledge, he tells himself. Her body pressing against his is delicious torture, made worse by the knowledge that his feelings are reciprocated. It has to stop.

“We should get back inside, Kara. This isn’t safe, come on.”

She just nods against his shoulder.

They manage to make it back through the window without dropping the bottle, although the cigar has disappeared somewhere over the ledge. Kara is leaning heavily on him, and they stumble together to their adjoining doors. Hers is unlocked and swings open as he pushes it.

If he were a decent man, an honorable man – a man worthy of the uniform he wears – Lee would leave her now. She’s not so drunk that she can’t walk the few paces to her bed, and he knows that if he goes through that door with her, he won’t leave. If he were a decent man, he would go, right this minute, while his legs will still allow him.

But she’s molded to his side, the warmth of her body mingling with his, and there is no decency, no honor that can withstand the feel of Kara Thrace in his arms. So he takes a deep breath and helps her through the doorway and into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him in a reflex that his conscience will hold against him later.

Four, five paces and they’re at the bed, and Kara’s knees buckle, but gods help him, she’s still holding onto him, and he falls with her, bracing himself on one arm to avoid crushing her. In the dim light from the streetlamp outside her window he can make out the look of despair on her upturned face, in her wide-open eyes.

Despair, and a hunger that matches the one consuming him. Maybe if they hadn't kissed, if they hadn't brought it out into the open, it might have been possible to deny this. Maybe. But it's frakking clear that ship has sailed, along with any effort at restraint, because her lips are already parting in anticipation of his kiss, and Lee has no fight left in him, so he dips his head and kisses her with all the passion he’s been struggling to rein in.

And gods, does she respond, whimpering into his mouth, a soft sound of desire and surrender rolled into one, and what little blood was left in his brain rushes to his groin. Her hands are tearing at his uniform, scrabbling to unbutton his jacket; his hands are shaking as he cups her breasts awkwardly through her tanks, thumbs rough over her nipples, and she arches into his touch.

Now that he can touch her, he wants to stroke and grab and feel every inch of her, lick her, smell her. He has to slow himself down, although her cold fingers have already made their way under his shirts and are sliding up his chest, blunt nails scraping lines onto his skin.

The feeling makes him shiver.

The evidence of his arousal is pressing against her thigh, and he kisses her deeper and pushes her tanks up with one hand, in search of warm skin. Kara wiggles under him, and suddenly his cock is flush against her sex, and she lets out a strangled moan as Lee rocks himself against her.

Too many layers between them, so his hand snakes between them and starts pulling at her zipper, unfastening her fatigues as best he can, while she helps by pushing the waistband over her hips. Then it’s just a matter of getting rid of her briefs – regulation military from the feel of them – and she lets out a long low breath and _gods_ he’s finally touching her. His fingers slide into hot, slick, welcoming flesh, swollen with desire, and Kara’s making little breathy sounds in his ear, egging him on. He’s got a finger inside her, then two, the heel of his hand rubbing against her clit, and she’s shaking.

“Frak, Lee, please…” she moans, and she’s unzipping his pants, grabbing his cock and tugging it with unmistakable intent. They’re rushed and clumsy, and Lee overbalances and falls onto her, and there’s an unseemly few seconds of febrile fumbling before his cock makes contact and he thrusts into her, hot and wet and tight, and Kara pushes her hips up, wraps her legs around his back, and draws him deeper. It’s the most amazing sensation – _ohgodsohgodsohgods_ she feels so right, so perfect that something tears inside him and he lets out a moan that sounds suspiciously like a sob.

They’re half on her bed and half off, bucking against each other chaotically. Their coupling is intense and desperate and primal, and nothing like the considerate and skilled attention that Lee usually lavishes on his partners. But then, he’s never experienced anything like this before.

The closest analogy he can come up with, in what’s left of his sentient mind, is that he’s possessed; the only saving grace in this lust-crazed madness is the knowledge that Kara is just as out of control as he is. She’s biting his mouth with every kiss, scoring his back with her nails, punctuating every erratic thrust with a drawn-out moan; until their fractured rhythms fall into sync and suddenly he’s on the brink of coming and hoping like hell that she is, too, because he’s not going to last.

“Kara,” he gasps, and she’s thrashing under him, moaning and swearing and cursing him as his synapses overload and he cascades into a blinding orgasm that blisses out his body and pretty much cuts off his brain.

His heart is still hammering in his chest when he recovers the powers of speech a couple of minutes later, and with superhuman effort manages to raise his head from Kara’s chest.

“Did you, uh…” he asks, sheepish.

She snorts.

“Yeah, Lee. Couldn’t you tell?”

“Just, you know, making sure,” he mutters, relieved, and he nuzzles the crook of her neck, to inhale her scent, magnified a dozen times by the heat and sweat and hormones. He tries to store it in his memories for future reference, because he’s frakking sure he won’t get another chance at this. The clouds are gathering, and there’s a tightness in his gut that he recognizes as nascent crippling guilt.

Kara’s curved against him, her breasts against his throat, her legs draped across his; he wants to stay there, warm and safe, but already he can feel her stiffening in his arms.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

He loosens his grip, rubs her side with one hand, tries to give what comfort he can in what he admits is a pretty bleak situation, post-coitally. His head is pounding. Kara is rigid now next to him.

He wants to pretend it’s not happening; instead, they should hole up in her room for the rest of the night, make the most of those precious stolen moments. He wants to make love to her slowly and attentively, mapping her whole body, every little patch of skin; committing her to memory. He wants to anchor this crazy feeling, so he can revisit it, but evidently it’s too late.

Kara is pulling away from him, disengaging from his embrace and rolling to the side. The loss of contact is almost painful, but it’s a welcome pain, cutting through the bullshit and the pipe dreams, reminding him that this has to stop. _Now._

“Well, that was…”

She sighs. “Stupid, Lee. That was stupid. And wrong.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I think I may have been drunk,” she adds, and he nods even though they both know that’s a paltry excuse for what happened.

“We shouldn’t tell…” he tails off.

“No. It was a mistake,” she says, sharp, and even though he agrees with her, it hurts. He’s being too sensitive for his own good. Maybe he ought to stop thinking about himself and remember who the wronged party is here.

It would be easier if Zak hadn’t spent his whole life looking up to Lee. It would make his betrayal a little less overwhelming. Maybe he’d feel less like throwing up because this amount of guilt is, frankly, nauseating.

Next to him, Kara shifts and props herself on an elbow above him. She looks tired, and Lee wishes he didn’t want to kiss her, again.

“So, do you think we got this out of our systems?” she asks with a sad little smile.

Lee shrugs. The thought did go through his mind, earlier, but even then he knew it was futile, and that sleeping with her wasn’t going to make things any easier. If anything, he wants more, now that he knows how good it could be.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and gods, he is, and not just because he’s just betrayed his baby brother. He’s sorry he didn’t get her first; bitterly sorry that he spent three years with her at the Academy and they never became friends, never flew together; godsdamned sorry he made her cheat on Zak.

“No, Lee, _I’m_ sorry,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed, and pulling the covers around her to cover her glorious nudity.

“I’m the one with the boyfriend. I should have known better.”

She sounds desolate.

“Come on, Kara, Zak’s my brother. My _baby_ brother. You don’t think that’s worse?” he asks, pushing himself up to sit next to her.

She flashes him the ghost of a smile.

“I don’t know, Lee, I’m an only child. You tell me.”

She sighs.

“All I know is that we did something that we shouldn’t have, and we can’t do it ever again. I don’t want to lose Zak, Lee, I love him.”

_I don’t want to lose you_ , he thinks, but he knows he has absolutely no choice in the matter.

“It won’t happen again, we’ll never talk about it, and he’ll never know. I promise,” he says, and against his better judgment, he leans in and kisses her mouth, tenderly, because it’s the last time he can do it. She flinches, but returns the kiss, for which he is eternally grateful.

That seals it. They dress silently, side by side – Kara pulling on tanks and briefs before pushing him out half-dressed so he can slink into his bedroom quietly, swallow a couple of painkillers, and fall into a fitful sleep.

By the time he emerges the next morning, Zak is back – disturbingly early, a mere 24 hours after he left – but Lee’s thankful for his reappearance, which ensures he and Kara aren’t left alone at any point. His belief in his own powers of self-denial and discipline has taken a knock; he’s painfully aware that Starbuck cuts through his resistance like a hot knife through butter.

Seeing Zak with her, though, makes Lee feel both ashamed and – unavoidably – jealous; so he decides, two uneventful and stilted days later, to cut short his leave and return to base. He doesn’t get a proper chance to say goodbye to Kara, just a brief hug outside the shuttle stop, with Zak in attendance, and he wonders whether he’ll ever see her again.

*******************

As far as Lee can tell, Starbuck successfully frakked him out of her system that night after all, because the next few times they meet, months later, she behaves perfectly normally. They fall into an easy camaraderie; they’re drinking buddies, occasional flight partners, and they argue over politics until they’re blue in the face. Now and then, there’s a look, a glimpse, a touch between them, but he can’t tell whether it’s his imagination or not. Except when in the cockpit, Zak is always with them, so opportunities are limited, and to be avoided.

Lee can almost pretend he’s gotten over her, but the truth is, it never stops hurting. He just gets used to it. He even applies for a stint back on Picon, at Fleet HQ. It’s good for his career is what he keeps telling himself. The fact that he sees a lot more of Zak and Kara – who’s become an instructor at the Flight School, and is coaching Zak – is just an added bonus. Or perhaps torture; it’s hard to tell sometimes.

Payback comes later, much later, when Lee takes Zak out for dinner alone one evening while Kara’s pushing her nuggets through an extended practice session in the sims. Zak’s been uncharacteristically subdued all the way through dinner, picking at his Virgoan curry, and Lee’s hoping a shot or three of ambrosia might loosen his tongue.

“Let’s go for a drink,” he suggests when they leave the restaurant.

“Yeah, definitely. But I pick the bar.”

“Sure,” says Lee, “I’m easy.”

But he isn’t, not really, and he wishes he hadn’t let Zak choose, because five minutes later they’re going down the steps of a dive that’s all too familiar. Thankfully, the seats he occupied with Kara on that fateful night are taken, and he manages to steer Zak to the other end of the room, near the bar, away from the stain on the ceiling shaped like Merope Island which he stared at for at least an hour after she walked off. Before he made his second huge mistake of the night.

“So what’s on your mind, bro?” he asks, pushing a brimming glass towards Zak and hoping for distraction. “Is Basic Flight stressing you?”

Lee knows from Kara how hard Zak is working for his test in four weeks’ time; and how much ground he still has to cover; but his brother shakes his head.

“It’s not that. I mean, yeah, of course I’m stressed, but this… this is about Kara.”

Kara. As if her presence didn’t already permeate the joint. Lee has purposefully avoided looking around him for a telltale blonde head, even though he knows she’s still in Flight School. But the mingled smells of ambrosia and cigar smoke, and the dingy blue and green décor are all too reminiscent of her presence, of that crazy night.

“You worried you’re going to get caught breaking frat regs?”

Lee wishes they would, sometimes, because they’ve nearly been caught a few times. It’s a miracle that they’ve managed to stay under the radar of officialdom so far, but neither of them seems to care, even though it would land her in a mess of trouble.

“Nope. It’s something more, you know, important.”

“Important like what?”

In retrospect, Lee’s amazed that he walked into this so blindly, so innocently. He should have expected it.

“Like this,” Zak says, putting a hand to his pocket, and it’s only when Lee sees the small box that he realizes what is happening. His stomach lurches.

“You’re going to…” he says, and clamps his mouth shut because he knows his voice is about to break and he has no wish to try and explain that now.

“I love her, man. I love her more than life itself and if I can’t ask her to be my wife what’s the point?”

Zak sounds so sincere, so determined, so _right_. He’s killing Lee with every word, but Lee can’t fault him for anything.

The ring is plain silver, thick, not much like an engagement ring at all, but it does look like something she’d wear on her finger, which is more than Lee can say for a traditional diamond ring. He’s ready to bet that Kara will love it.

“If she says yes, will you be my best man?”

Oh frak. _Frak._ Zak’s turned on his puppy dog look and Lee has never been able to resist his brother’s pleading face. He can’t imagine anything worse than standing by his brother and his fiancée as they pledge themselves to each other, and yet he can’t say no. Besides, there’s no way he can avoid being there when it happens, short of the next Cylon war breaking out. He forces a smile.

“I’d be honored. And I’m sure she’ll say yes.”

“I hope you’re right, because otherwise I might very well die of a broken heart.”

“She won’t break your heart, Zak. She loves you.”

_Besides,_ he wants to add, _you can perfectly well live with a broken heart._

“Yeah. But I love her more,” Zak says, sounding a little maudlin as the ambrosia catches up with him. “You know how you used to mock me because I told you one day I’d find The One? How you kept telling me I was an incurable romantic and I should grow up. Remember?”

Oh, Lee remembers all right. All these years of deriding his brother for falling in love at every turn, and now not only has Zak proved him wrong and found the love of his life, but it turns out she’s Lee’s as well. He’s the butt of some terrible cosmic joke; it’s probably fitting punishment for his betrayal, but gods, it hurts.

He’s never been a religious man, but he’s beginning to believe that the reputed cruelty of the Fates, if anything, has been undersold.

He wonders, a month later, how he could ever have thought that the worst day of his life. He’d give his right arm to be standing next to Zak and Kara, witnessing their happiness. Instead, he’s carrying his brother’s coffin to his grave, and nothing will ever be the same again.


End file.
